


This Is Hale Pack Territory, Bloodsucker

by annapanorama



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Vampire, But yk, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Vampire Stiles, Vampires, Werewolf Derek, my own vampires though, probably not as vampirey as other vampires, stiles still has to go to school
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:26:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28410873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annapanorama/pseuds/annapanorama
Summary: Stiles is a newly turned vampire. When Derek comes all up in his business because apparently, Beacon Hills is Hale Pack territory (what pack, though?), Stiles does the only thing that seems reasonable: Attach to Derek Hale like a duckling to its mom. Someone needs to teach him how to vampire, all right?
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 22
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

Grocery shopping felt more like a chore than ever before. 

Stiles had to keep up the charade of eating so that his dad wouldn’t think anything was wrong – but he didn’t actually need to eat. 

So there he stood, in Beacon Hill’s Walmart, in the middle of the night (because why should he subject himself to waiting in the line while shopping during regular hours instead of shopping at night where he would look cool and mysterious while doing so?), desperately trying to pick out the cheapest cereal that looked like something that old-Stiles, human-Stiles, would have dared to eat. It was at this moment that he looked up and saw it, him, blazing at him with red eyes from across the next shelf.  
¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬  
Maybe, however, I should start where it actually began. Two months prior to this life-changing super eventful (even though we haven’t been at that part yet) nightly walk through Beacon Hills’ finest Walmart, Stiles was at a party. 

He had put on his finest flannel for this occasion (his dad wasn’t supposed to know that he was going out – what else should he have worn?) and if he had had any hair to brush, he certainly would have brushed it. Unfortunately, there was no hair to brush. 

So how come Stiles was invited to a party, you might ask. First of all, that’s kind of a derogatory question. He was delightful, that’s how he was invited. Lydia Martin appreciated him very much and didn’t just invite him because her new best friend Allison had all the hots for Stiles’ best friend Scott, who in turn, lusted right back. In the end, does it really matter how he was invited? Point is, Stiles went to a party and it was great. 

There was dancing and drinking and after Stiles participated more than enough in the second activity, he stumbled right into the Martin’s backyard to dreamily look at the stars and maybe also puke a bit. 

Turns out, his puke must have had some serious vampire-attracting smell because while Stiles doesn’t remember anything in between of puking his brains out and waking up, he knows that that huge ass bite on his wrist couldn’t have been there while he was in Lydia’s house, other people nearby. Seriously, whoever bit him probably ate apples whole.   
Due to the size of the bite, Stiles came to the logical conclusion that he was bitten by an animal.

A day after the bite, he had felt normal. Apart from the worst headache of his life, that is. As he was forcing pancakes down his throat in front of his father’s eyes, who was suspiciously looking like he was enjoying himself a bit too much, he swore to himself that he would never ever get drunk again. At that point, he didn’t know that that statement would hold true.

Two days after the bite, his whole arm was itching. It didn’t hurt, which calmed Stiles down, but it itched like ants were trying to crawl out. No amount of lotion could make the itch go away – and while Stiles was halfway to believing that he was dying of rabies, he wasn’t sure to panic. Therefore, he directed all of his attention to playing on his play station.

Stiles hadn’t slept that second night. The itching had only gotten worse and soon, he was lying on the ground, scratching the worst places, which kept becoming more, staring intently at his phone. He wanted to call his father who was on patrol. But he knew he couldn’t. Not when the bite that, hours before, was deep and red and very visible, had completely faded.  
He had died that night.

He knew, because when he woke up the next day, his whole body felt wrong. Turns out, he didn’t have a heartbeat anymore. Oh, and his hair had grown. Now, how do you hide two additional inches of hair from someone who sees you every day?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii so here comes the second chapter. I was unbelievably surprised to see that I've already gotten like, a hundred views and even COMMENTS for the last one. Thank you so much for this! If you've got recommendations or anything you want to rid yourself of, leave a comment. THANK YOU SO MUCH!

His hair was had been the least of his problems. The ABSOLUTE least. 

That day, the day his transformation had finished (possibly? How was he supposed to know. Anyway, it was that day when he woke up and his hair was weird and so was everything else. Oh, and when his heart didn’t beat anymore. THAT day.) he had stood in front of his bathroom’s mirror for hours, or at the least a couple of very intense seconds, just touching it. 

In between his tender, curious touches to his scalp and neck and quiff, Stiles had of course noticed that his skin also seemed much nicer. That pimple on his chin that kept reappearing at least once a month and took residence in his face for a week at a time – and had done so only a couple of days before – was gone. 

Small victories it is. 

But his hair was long and it tickled in his neck, which was not used to being tickled at all. And it didn’t look bad at all, it looked perfectly messy and stuff. So that definitely caught his attention. 

And then his dad was knocking on his door, calling for him to hurry up (“If you don’t leave soon I might just have to take you to school in my cruiser, lights on, for you to be on time”, he had said), so Stiles had hurried up. 

He had given his head the quickest, least thorough shave it had seen since the day he had first shaved it, which was when he was twelve. 

A part of him had felt sorry about losing what had seemed to his eyes like a proper hairstyle.

His razor barely had any battery left and there were probably some hair still sticking out in weird places. And because he was no regular human but instead super smart, he also took a beanie with him and set it on top of his head to never be taken off again.

The rest of his outfit was picked with less care; he barely even looked at himself while putting on clothes... You see where this is going. 

When he arrived at school everyone was already in class so he made his entrance. It was a Monday and Monday mornings meant chemistry. 

Nothing really gets the blood flowing like chemistry.

It was at that moment that he had noticed it for the first time: When Lydia Martin looked up and stared at him for a second, a quick second that would soon after be labelled in his head as the most beloved one of his teenage life, probably, and then…had promptly looked away. 

But still, she had looked at him. That certainly was a character defining moment for him. 

(Okay, time-out. Stiles’ brain had already noticed something was off when his teacher, Mr. Harris, didn’t immediately give him detention for his late-being. He only threatened Stiles with it, but he didn’t actually give him it. In other words: Curious incidents were happening to Stiles that day. But no story involving Harris even came close to being as interesting as any story involving Lydia Martin. And that’s the reason for why Stiles’ discovering of his newfound attraction-attracting-self had to involve Lydia Martin and not Mr. Probably-Brews-Crack-In-His-Freetime-Harris.)

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

The guy in Walmart, who looked at Stiles with glazing red eyes, obviously didn’t get the note. The note in question is the one detailing how Stiles had received more positive attention in these last two months than in his whole life.

Or, most likely, if any of Stiles’ past life selves resembled his current self, more attention than what he got in his past lives and his current life combined. 

The guy (holy shit, hot guy, as Stiles’ mind added helpfully) was not looking at him like he wanted some of his pale ass.

Rather, he was looking furious, over the top so. 

He doesn’t even have a cart, was all Stiles could think before he was pressed into the shelf he had, unconsciously, leaned against when he had first noticed those eyes.   
Stiles was scared in a way he had never been before. There was no heartbeat pumping adrenaline through his veins and instead of coming up with glorious adrenaline-fuelled ideas, he remained still and frightened. 

His mind knew the danger, though. So he stared at the guys’ broad chest and chin and lips instead of meeting his deadly gaze. Later, he would learn that he had unknowingly done the smartest thing he could’ve done: Not panicking (how do you panic without a heart to match your brain?) and submitting. Neither flight nor fight; plain old freezing worked just fine in this scenario. 

The guys’ chest looked exactly what you’d imagine a dangerous guys’ chest to look like: Broad and clad in leather. However, his lips, when he spoke, looked kind of exactly what you’d think Ryan Goslings lips would look like all the time, really: soft and kissable. 

“You’re in Hale Pack territory, Bloodsucker”, Guy said. 

See: Stiles was very intelligent, really, and apparently had a death wish.

“This is a Walmart, dude. If anything, this is Walton territory. And Sam Walton is perfectly fine with me shopping here. I think. I didn’t actually ask. I could, though”, Stiles said. He closed his eyes when he felt the guys’ breath on his throat, closing in. His rambling probably didn’t help him to survive. “I totally should ask. In fact, I should ask right now, go home, write an e-mail, just… Oh my god, don’t kill me.” 

Just when Stiles was convinced he was going to die, again, for fuck’s sake, Guy stepped back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR
> 
> leave criticism and stuff in the comments
> 
> your last comments made me very happy
> 
> also kudos, there were so many kudos
> 
> tysm

In first period, Lydia Martin had spared a brief glance at him – and it was awesome. It was awesome until Stiles had sat down next to Scott, who had greeted him like he always greeted Stiles nowadays – with a very happy nudge with his elbow and then quickly redirecting his attention two seats to the left, to Allison. Very normal, that. 

What was not normal and certainly confusing was that thorough the whole lesson, he was looked at. The glances were always quick to perish whenever he noticed them, but they were there. 

Now normally, Stiles would jump to the conclusion that he had his shirt on the wrong way or maybe toothpaste all over his face. But normally, Stiles didn’t wake up without a heartbeat and a bunch of hair and – oh fuck, the hair. 

Self-consciously, he brought his hand to the back of his head and tried not to look like he was gently caressing or god forbid petting his own head while tugging at the hair that was visible from under his beanie. 

His hair still felt like a horde of kindergarteners was let loose on it, thank god. But why were people looking at him?

________________________________

Stiles had felt victorious about throwing off his attacker with fierce words right until he looked up and saw Guy staring at him very unimpressed. He didn’t look exactly angry, now that his eyes were a normal colour. In the corner of his eye however, Stiles could see him clenching his fists and then opening them, as if to control uncontrollable rage.

“Okay”, Stiles said, drawn out, when after a couple of seconds there was still no other words from Guy than what he had said before. “I will just…leave?”, he asked, voice going high towards the end. He didn’t make a move though, just to be sure. Wouldn’t want to trigger any kind of chase-instinct-thingy.

Guy chose to raise his eyebrows, and all of a sudden he just looked like a spoiled brat and nothing like the top tier predator he had looked like before. “No, you’re not going to leave”, he said.

Stiles waited for him to follow that statement up with something for like, ten seconds, which was a very rare display of patience for Stiles that his father would probably have been proud of. Until he blurted out “God, can you be any more cryptic?” and scheduled his face into an expression much appropriate for his annoyance. 

All the while, Stiles’ brain was on the verge of exploding. The guy had made it pretty clear that he was not human, just like Stiles. And if there was one thing Stiles had recently run out of, it was non-human-companions that could explain to him the wonders of his recent death and resurrection.

“You will follow me and then we will have a talk about your mission”, Guy said from across Stiles. He had folded his arms in front of his chest, emphasizing his ridiculous biceps, and if he hadn’t proven himself to be a giant dick Stiles would have had a hard time concentrating on the guy’s face. 

He didn’t have that problem now. Nope, not at all. Noooope.

“Yup”, Stiles said. “It’s a date. I mean, tell me when and where. I mean…”

“I was thinking now, in my car”, Guy disrupted, looking more and more annoyed with Stiles’ ramblings. In his head, Stiles was mad at himself for letting himself fall into his go-to response for unpleasant situations: uncontrolled joking. He had to seriously be careful to not have this guy jump on his throat, as he was in the midst of doing merely minutes before.

Stiles swallowed, his hands sweaty at his sides. “That’s…”, he began, as a woman came into their aisle. Immediately, Stiles felt safer, as the guy relaxed his stance and scheduled his face into a neutral expression, as to not appear threatening towards or rather in front of the woman.

That’s when Stiles realized that this guy wasn’t going to make a scene in a Walmart, or probably anywhere with people. He didn’t want to be recognized, Stiles understood. If Stiles played his cards right, he could probably escape this situation. He totally had the upper hand here.

“I will not follow you to your car, pervert. Please stop following me, or I will call my dad. He’s the sheriff”, Stiles said loudly.

The woman was clutching cereal in her hand, looking at Stiles with wide eyes, then at the guy, then at Stiles again. If Stiles was going missing today, he was certainly going to make sure that he had some witnesses. 

The guy looked dumbfounded, mouth opening and closing a few times while looking at Stiles unabashedly the whole time. Then, he turned around and left. 

The rest of Stiles’ grocery shopping was quiet and took time, as Stiles could barely comprehend what had just happened. The former impulse that had supplied him with braveness for a few moments was gone and he was left wondering about what the hell he was supposed to do now. 

He couldn’t tell his Dad about this, or Scott, or anyone. This guy could be waiting outside of the grocery store for him, for all he knew. But there’s cameras, he told himself, and people. So many people. The lot was practically empty. So many people, he repeated, trying to get himself to step out of the store. 

When he finally gathered the courage to clatch onto his bags, as if they could protect him in a fight with 250 pounds of muscle, and took off over the parking lot to his car, the guy was nowhere to be seen. 

He would have to start shopping during regular hours again, if he didn’t want what happened today to happen again. Maybe start wearing some sunglasses and a wig to not be recognised by the guy. Even though he was pretty sure that the guy hadn’t recognised him for his looks… Somehow, the guy had known exactly what he was from the get go. When Stiles got home, he sat down in front of the computer and started goolgling, like he had been doing for two months now, in hopes of finding anything useful this time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I have a plan now for this story, Like, a rough plan, in my head.  
> Have fun reading, please let me know if you have any constructive criticism! Thank you so much!

The first week after Stiles’ three day transformation was the hardest. Stiles knew that he was different, not in a way that could be explained by teenage hormones, but in a way that couldn’t be explained by anything, really. 

His disposition was nothing he had ever heard of, ever. 

After the first day of school when he was already transformed, he spent the rest of the day trying to feel for a pulse. He had done that in the morning already but for some reason his sleep deprived brain had deemed his hair more important. Now, his hair certainly was one huge fucking issue for Stiles, because as he checked the mirror, just in case any other obstacles had decided to make their appearance (maybe a magic nose piercing accompanying the tousled hair?), he had found that his hair was at at least a centimetre in length again. That was NOT normal, even for him, whose hair grew rampant very fast. So he would definitely have to shave his hair again before his father came home, and before school, and fuck, he’d truly never not wear a beanie again, would he?

Anyway, he was trying to find his heartbeat all afternoon. Part of him had still hoped that he, who was not a nurse, or a doctor, or anyone who did this regularly, had just missed it. But he hadn’t. There was no movement, at all. And because there was nothing he could do about that, he decided he should just ignore that issue. So he started cooking for his father, and when that was finished, he went into his room to study. No heartbeat, people treating him differently, hair grows impossibly quickly – who cares, really?

It came to a boil when his father came finally home, exhausted as usual, and they ate. 

They both dug in, Spaghetti and Meatballs being one of Stiles’ best dishes (which, okay, that’s probably everyone’s best dish, whatever). But then the Sherriff had coughed and wheezed, face going red.

“What the hell, Stiles?”, his dad had exclaimed in between coughs. Stiles was still in the midst of chewing, but he had risen to slap his dad on the back. 

“You okay?”

“This is, I mean, this is very salty. And peppery. Very tasty”, his dad said, “but not very…tasty”, he said, sounding confused. “How did you not notice that?”

Stiles looked at him blankly. “Are we eating the same dish? This tastes kind of bland…”

Long story short: Stiles didn’t enjoy food. 

At that point, Stiles hadn’t even known yet what kind of problem the food-thing would come to be.

The hair, he could manage. After a week of shaving two times a day (he had never spent this much time in the bathroom, his dad probably thought he had constant diarrhea) he got really sick of it. So he made a plan: Every week, he`d change the settings of the razor to one millimetre more. And in a couple of weeks, he could…only hope that his hair wouldn’t go to his waist but maybe sort of just stop? Maybe? A guy could hope.

The eating thing, though…Stiles was in serious trouble. Because he was hungry, but everything he tried was bland, didn’t satisfy him. After the third day of not eating he tried to just stuff himself, after all, he needed some calories and vitamins and stuff. He tried, but he puked. 

Under normal circumstances, he would have consulted anyone by now. But if he did and they would discover that he was basically a non-decomposing corpse. He would end up in like, Area 51. Okay, that sounded kind of cool, actually.

His heartbeat didn’t come back, so he stopped checking.

After two weeks he finally found out that the hair was part of a bigger problem. They were in break, and Stiles was not paying attention to Scott because 1: he was talking about Allison Argent’s hair with a passion that was frankly, disturbing and 2: he was pretty convinced that a girl, a pretty girl, had just winked at him. Winked. The attention he was getting lately was becoming creepy, and also, yay. 

“So Stiles”, said Scott. “How`d you do it?” 

“How’d I do what?”, asked Stiles, staring after the girl.

“How did you become this…I mean, have you been working out, without me?”

Stiles shifted and stared at Scott, who was looking at him with big, brown and so very confused eyes.

“No? What are you talking about?”

“Well, you look good. I mean, you always look good, but I’ve never really noticed that you….had muscles, and stuff. Allison asked me about it.”

“Allison asked….about my muscles?”, Stiles was bewildered. “Scott, are you okay?”

“Not like that but she…”, began Scott and wrinkled his forehead. “Apparently, the girls have been noticing, lately, and I gotta say man, me too. After Allison said it, that was like, quite the revelation. And the beanie, what’s up with that? DO you have a new style? Can I join? ‘Cause you`re getting a lot of attention and I…” He stared at Stiles for a moment. Stiles was shocked into silence.

“You’re the hot girl, Stiles, that everyone wants. And congrats and stuff, but how?”, he finished.

And that’s how Stiles found out that his new transformation had made him attractive. After avoiding the topic of his transformation by talking about hormones and the merits of working-out, because that was now officially Stiles’ lifestyle, Stiles knew: Life could be amazing.

________________________________________

Life was shit.

Days had gone by after the incident in the Walmart, and Stiles had been ready to just forget it. Just another point on the list of weird things that were lately happening to him but probably weren’t serious. Guy comes up to him, wants to eat him, walks away never to be seen again. Okay, who was he to hold a grudge? Who was he to even judge? Who was he to eat chocolate fudge and drive monster trucks to biker stops? (What precision, what talent. Rupi Kaur could only envy him.)

Anyway, he had totally repressed what had happened and instead devoted himself to the study of his hair, which was now at 7 millimetres, probably, and appeared to be growing slower every day. Also, the hunger he felt increasingly kind of supported his deflection of the important things.

However, he started to regret this procrastination (he had been avoiding trying to do research for his little problem because googling, as he had found out way too soon, brought back nothing but increasingly weird stuff) when fucking Walmart guy appeared in his room. Or was there, maybe een before Stiles had been.

“Holy crap!”, he shouted, but it fell flat. He was still working on proper panic responses.

The guy looked even hotter today than he did last time Stiles had seen him as he was holding one of Stiles’ books, which, could there be anything hotter than that? Attractive people reading? 

Stiles stood still until after a beat, the guy looked up. Guy probably planned on doing that, trying to look as unbothered and cool as possible.

“Sit”, he demanded.

Stiles crossed his arms and glared.

“I will make you sit if you don’t do it yourself.”

Stiles decided that sitting would probably be more comfortable than standing, anyway.

“You look tired”, the guy said.

“I’ve been struggling to sleep”, Stiles responded. “Every time I try to sleep I think about this creepy guy who recently harassed me in Walmart.” It wasn’t the truth, Stiles had simply been to hungry to sleep. But he didn’t know whether he should say that.

“My sincere condolences”, the guy said, not sounding very moved. Then he looked Stiles up and down. “You look very tired”, he said again, sounding thoughtful.

Stiles blinked. Maybe the guy had problems with his memory. “I have been struggling to sleep”, Stiles said slowly, “Every time I try-“

“Shut up. You’re not the one, are you?”, he waited for a beat as Stiles remained silently confused. “The one who’s been killing people”, he elaborated.

“What the fuck, no. What the, no, what the fuck?”, Stiles let out.

“Yes, good point”, the guy deadpanned. “However, I would counter that you know who it is.”

The guy got up and went towards Stiles, and after his second step Stiles started to back off, behind him a wall. 

“Okay, time-out. This has to be a big misconception. Because me? Not a killer. Also, no killer companions. Hello, my dad’s the Sherriff. Sadly; no killers for me. Not sadly! Nope, no sadness!”, Stiles was rambling again, leaning against the wall and feeling like his legs might give out.

“See you say that”, the guy started and Stiles was thoroughly creeped out by the way the guys face and voice appeared to be calm and slightly amused. He didn’t act amused though, so this was probably his angry face. Stiles wondered whether his face looked angry when he was amused. “But how am I supposed to believe you?”

“I don’t know”, Stiles rushed to say, not wanting him to step any closer, “attach me to a lie detector or something. Oh no”, he continued when the guy looked at him with raised eyebrows. 

“Yeah, oh no”, he said. “So if you’re not the killer…”

“I’m not!”, Stiles interrupted.

“And you also don’t know him…”

“I don’t! I mean, not that I know of!”, Stiles interrupted again.

“Will you shut up for a second? Oh my god, I hate you already.”

“That’s rude”, Stiles sad lowly. Regret filled him immediately as the guy grabbed his shirt and pulled him away from where he had pressed himself against the wall, just to roughly smash him back into it. 

“This is not okay”, Stiles said with tears in his eyes (Hey! He could still cry! His world was full of things to rediscover!) and was promptly smashed into the wall again. This time, his head also smashed into it and a sharp pain seized it.

“You”, the guy said lowly, “will help me find him.”

He was at the window when Stiles managed to find his words again. He was angry now, too, and his usual reaction to being angry was being as annoying as humanly possible. 

"And what's in it for me?"

The figure in his window stopped for a moment, looked back at him with a neutral expression.

"I will...make sure that you feed. You do look very tired."

And then he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry it took so long  
> I have been successfully avoiding doing course work right now, in order to write this  
> and now I will successfully avoid proofreading this by doing course work  
> in other words: if theres spelling mistakes and weird grammar and stuff, pretend you don't see it   
> thank you for being here, I hope youve been having a nice day so far

It was during the third week of Stiles’ transformation that he realized something important about himself. Things had been as normal as they could get up to that point, because Stiles had taken to ignoring the problem that was his new physique and all of its missing functions (eating, drinking). 

However, it was impossible to ignore the clench of his stomach that seemed to get worse with every passing day. Stiles was hungry and it was a hunger that had taken a hold of him that could not be quenched by anything that he could think of. So he didn’t eat and he didn’t drink.

It was raining the day things finally came to a boil. It had been raining the whole day, and Stiles had sat in class and had stared out of the window, waiting for an announcement through the speakers that Lacrosse practise wouldn’t be taking place. That announcement didn’t come, though.

So here he was, crossing the Lacrosse field with Scott at his side. Despite the heavy rain, there were a couple of girls on the bleachers. He didn’t manage to make out their faces, as Scott and him had nearly crossed the field and reached the rest of the team, but he felt like they were looking in their direction. They were probably making fun of him and the shirt clinging to his skinny frame.

“Dude, how can you look this unbothered?”, Scott asked and elbowed him. His dark hair was sticking to his forehead, his eyes attached to the bleachers. 

“Scotty”, Stiles said, feeling sorry for his friend. It was undoubtedly hard for Scott to be made fun of when the girl he had a crush on was extremely popular. “You shouldn’t care about what other people think of you. Allison likes you for who you are and stuff”, Stiles said, pinching Scott’s cheeks. 

Scott blinked. “That’s not what I’m talking about, you idiot. Lydia Martin is on the bleachers, and she was totally looking at you.” 

Styles stopped walking. He felt nervous all of a sudden. “Lydia Martin was…No, Scott, she’s probably here for Jackson.”

“You know that Jackson doesn’t play in this weather”, Scott said, “his father probably gave him a pass. No, she was definitely looking at you.”

And just like that, Stiles’ attention was wrecked.

He played shitty. Not small amounts of shit, but huge, disgusting amounts of shit. Finstock yelled at him twice as many times as he yelled at the other players, combined. Rain was beating down on his face, and his stomach hurt, and his knee also hurt from when he had fallen and face-planted himself in the mud. 

Lydia Martin had come to watch him play and he made a total fool out of himself. 

In between his misdemeanour he shot looks at the bleachers. Stiles felt torn – he wanted Lydia to be there so bad, but he also didn’t want anyone, ever, to see him fail like this, especially not Lydia. 

When he caught the ball for the next time, he began running towards the goal. Finally, something was going right. But when he shot a quick look towards the bleachers, he found them empty. He stumbled, feeling disappointed in himself, but managed to not fall again. At least, right until he came across Danny, who was trying to take the ball from him. 

“Evade! Evade, Stiles!”, Coach screamed from the side-lines, blowing his whistle furiously. 

But when Stiles tried to take a step left he slipped on the wet grass. Danny and him collided, both going down. 

His own knees hurt, as did his hands, but from the sudden yelp out of Danny’s direction , he could tell that he was the one who was better off. Quickly, he stood up and went over to Danny, who was already surrounded by other players. His knees shone red, but he looked fine apart from that. There were grass stains on the wounds and it would probably be a pain to properly clean them. That was, however, not what caught Stiles attention.

Stiles did not have particularly well hearing. And as could be told from the fact that Scott managed to make out faces on the bleachers when standing next to Stiles, but Stiles didn’t, Stiles also probably needed glasses. He had literally no idea how good his sense of smell was, but he was pretty sure it was average.

But as he neared Danny, Stiles knew Danny was wounded before he saw it. He smelt it. The blood was overpowering his nose and he felt the hair on his arms rising. His stomach clenched. And when Danny’s wounds finally came into viewing, Stiles recognized what he was feeling. 

His mouth salivated, his teeth hurt. He didn’t feel tired anymore and the rain wasn’t bothering him, as he could see every single pore of Danny’s scrubby knees perfectly. He was hungry, hungry for Danny.

And that was when Stiles knew what he was. 

“Sorry, Danny, I…”, he said roughly, but he was probably not heard, as his teammates were tending to Danny. The urge to feed became overwhelming, so Stiles turned around and ran, ran until he was home.

________________________________________

“Soooooo…”, Stiles said, tapping his fingers nervously against the window of Derek’s passenger door. 

Derek ignored him. In fact, he had said very little for someone who had shown up in Stiles room and demanded he come with him. He had probably realized pretty soon that the easiest way to get Stiles quiet was to not respond to him. 

“Soooooooo…”, Stiles tried again, tapping more furiously. 

Again, Derek didn’t say anything. Stiles actually kind of admired his persistence. This had been the sixth time Stiles had said that word, each time a little bit more drawn out. He wasn’t trying to be annoying, per say, but he did feel wary about this whole situation and wanted to get Derek to say anything, really, in order to be assured that no, he would not be taken into a forest and dumped into a whole.  
Derek set the blinker and turned left; leaving the safety of what was Beacon Hills’ populated area behind. Fuck, Stiles thought, we totally are going to a forest where he will smash my head in which a stone when I’m not looking.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Sooooooooooooo”, he started, with the intention of not stopping until Derek responded to him. And he did succeed, in a way, because Derek loudly breathed in as if to prepare himself for a deep dive and turned his head in order to scowl at Stiles.

“Where are we going again?”, Stiles asked. “’Cause I seem to have forgotten. Oops”, he added as an afterthought.

“You seem to have forgotten”, Derek said with a fake patience, “because I haven’t told you.” Again, he turned his head to look at Stiles. “I wasn’t sure whether you would’ve come with me if I told you that we were going into a forest to look at some stuff.” He smiled at Stiles, who hoped his facial expression looked remotely like he was not thinking of ways to jump out of the car.

“Right. I will just text my dad, then, if you’re fine with that, and tell him where I’m going.”

“No, I don’t think you will”, Derek responded easily. He slowed the car down, as the road stopped and transformed into a field path that was directly leading to what seemed to be a big, dark, forest.  
Now Stiles seriously felt unsafe. 

“Hey, remember that conversation we had where I told you that I’m not a murderer and you believed me?”, Stiles asked. “I think now is the time to turn that conversation around. You are not a murderer, are you? Right? Right?”

“Oh, I’ve definitely killed”, Derek replied, seemingly enjoying this conversation. “And even thought I would love to kill you”, he began, slowing the car down to a halt, “because you must be the single most annoying…person I’ve ever encountered, that’s not what I’m planning. For now, that is. We will look at a body and see if we can find a clue about who killed it.” 

Stiles stared at him as Derek got out of the car, went around it and opened up the door for him.

“You coming?”, he said, raising his eyes expectantly.

“And how do I know you’re being honest?”, Stiles asked.

“Oh my god, Stiles. If I wanted to kill you, I could have just pulled you into the forest that’s right behind your house and made it look like you were attacked by a mountain lion. Stop being dense and come with me”, Derek countered.

So that’s how Stiles found himself stumbling over twigs and stones as he followed Derek into the forest. There was, after all, something he wanted from Derek, even though he didn’t know yet how to bring it up.

His trousers were becoming wet at the ends and just as he began fearing that his shoes, which were already wet from the outside, wouldn’t stand the wetness that was the floor of the forest, Derek stopped.

Stiles came up next to him and as he saw what Derek was standing before, he exclaimed “Holy shit!”

There was a corpse on the ground, and it didn’t look good. Thankfully, it lay on its stomach so Stiles wouldn’t have to see the fa – aaaand Derek had turned the body around, using his feet. Stiles was looking at hundreds of small insects crawling away from the bloated face that was now exposed to the sun. Stupidly, he breathed through his nose and as the smell reached him, Stiles felt sick. His stomach was turning and if he had eaten anything in two and a half months, Stiles knew that it would’ve left his body now. 

He stumbled back, now breathing open-mouthed, diverting his eyes, which promptly fell to Derek. Derek, who was watching him with a neutral expression.

“You sick asshole!”, Stiles exclaimed as he quickly realized what was happening. Now Derek looked at him like he was daring Stiles to repeat what he had called him. Stiles was angry, but not stupid, so he continued, sounding braver than he felt in the face of what was frankly a very angry supernatural being, “You brought me here to watch my reaction. What, you think I killed that person?”, he asked. His eyes quickly darted to the corpse, which was still looking as gruesome as it had been looking seconds before. He felt sick again.

Derek laughed, the sound sharp in Stiles ears. “Why would I not think you killed that person? You are a killer, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a murderer!”, Stiles yelled. “And I told you that”, he added, sounding weak to his own ears. Derek didn’t know him, so of course he wouldn’t believe him.

“I don’t know you, Stiles, so why would I trust you?” He took a step closer. “I think that I know you haven’t fed in a while”, he said, “but it’s not like you couldn’t trick me. I can’t tell you’re lying; I can’t hear your heartbeat.”

Stiles stared at him. “You can hear people’s heartbeats? What the hell.” 

Derek stared back. “You’ve seen me, Stiles, you know what I am. I understand that you’re probably out of touch with humanity, but surely you must remember that humans don’t have red eyes?”

“Out of touch with…Listen, I haven’t even been dead for three full months and from how I’ve seen you behave so far, it’s you who’s out of touch with humanity, not me”, Stiles spoke. “And no, I don’t know what the hell you are, because you know what Google shows you when you search for people with red eyes? Stoners, Derek, stoners!”

When Stiles was finished with his rant, they both stood still, staring at each other. Wind was rustling the trees around them and Stiles shifted his feet, as he noticed that his socks were wet. He wanted to start speaking again, to ask Derek how Stiles could believe that it was not him who had killed that person, when Derek spoke up before he could.

“You’ve been a vampire for how long?”, he asked, unconsciously confirming Stiles’ suspicions about his nature.

“Roughly two months and two weeks”, Stiles said, somehow feeling like he was telling Derek something he should be ashamed of. Which he was, in more ways than one.

“And what have you…eaten, so far?”, Derek asked, stepping closer yet. His eyebrows were drawn together in a serious manner and Stiles didn’t know what to make of this conversation.

“I mean”, Stiles began, “I did try a couple of things in the beginning….”

“Like what?”, Derek interrupted.

“Like Spaghetti and also a Bagel. But that didn’t work”, Stiles said.

“Shut up, Stiles. You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know. But I haven’t…I mean I. I don’t know how much longer I can…”, Stiles took a deep breath.

Derek came very close, all of a sudden. He took Stiles face by his cheeks and inspected him, and Stiles was way too caught off guard to stop him.

“That explains why you look older”, he said. “And it explains the terrible haircuts.”

“What do you mean?”, Stiles asked. He was at full attention, his hands shook in anticipation of information about the vampire thing.

“You really don’t know nothing about vampires, do you”, Derek said quietly, but it didn’t sound like a question. Stiles opened his mouth in answer, but Derek already seemed to know him to well and quieted him with a serious look. “Real vampires, Stiles, not Twilight vampires.”

Finally, he stepped back and Stiles felt like he could breathe more freely again. The close proximity to Derek had somehow rendered him unable to form thoughts. 

"I was going to say Van Helsing, just so we're clear", Stiles mumbled.

Derek continued as if Stiles hadn't said anything. “I will teach you some things about yourself and I will let you feed, as promised, back where I live. But before we drive there….You need to get close to that body and take a deep whiff. I need you to remember the smell of their blood, or what’s left of it, so you recognize whoever drank it when you come across them.”

“Oh hell no”, Stiles said, not daring to look at the mangled corpse that he had forgotten. “Why don’t you do it, I’m sure you have super smelling to go along with that super hearing that can, apparently, make you hear heartbeats. By the way, can I learn that?”

Derek actually smiled at that, looking up to the sky which was quickly darkening by now. He did look like something out of a movie, looking perfect and all that. The corpse kind of destroyed the ambience, though. The corpse that Stiles was supposed to smell. 

“You can’t, sorry. But I promise you, your sense of smell is way better than mine…when it comes to blood, at least.”


End file.
